Spaces
by monoxide girl
Summary: He's getting too old for all of this. [Oneshot.][Roger Matt, MelloxMatt.][Rated for Matt's potty mouth.][Complete.]


AN: did this because i feel like these two would have a pretty deep connection, and every look at their involvement in the Kira case that i've ever seen has been from either Matt or Mello's point of view. Never from Roger's.  
>Lots of my own headcanon injected here, oops. this was originally only for a few people's eyes, but i really love this piece of writing. also, it's been, what? 4 years since i've posted something here? i think i might as well.<p>

sorry this is so goddamn long, I tend to ramble a liiiiittle bit...

Spaces_  
>monoxidegirl<em>

The two of them could, very easily, drive a man to drink.  
>Matt's sitting in the seat in front of him, Mello at his side, standing, pack of cigarettes on his desk. Matt doesn't look particularly guilty, and Mello just looks bored.<br>Roger sighs, heavy, and then rubs at his temple, just under his glasses.  
>"Where did you get these Matthew?"<br>The redhead shrugs his shoulders in a response and then grins, "Santa."  
>Mello snorts next to him and Roger reminds himself to add an extra chore onto his list of duties, shaking his head a little. He's not surprised - Matt may not have been the top of the class but his sharp wit was turning into a real problem.<br>"Mello, go to your next class now, please. Matthew and I need to talk in private."  
>Mello looks like he's going to argue, he casts a glance at his friend (his Watari, Roger thinks) but then just turns and leaves and Matt watches him go before he looks back to him.<br>"Where did you get the cigarettes, Matthew?"  
>"I stole them from one of the teacher's bags."<br>"Why?"  
>"I thought I'd try it."<br>Roger sighs - Matt is a different kind of troubled, he's normal, and normal here is hard to handle, hard to predict and hard to read. He does what normal twelve year olds do, what an average kid would and he has to remind himself of his past, of where he came from.  
>(New York, that dingy apartment, and his Mother…it's a shame, he's destined to be brilliant but he squanders it away and Roger can't figure out why.)<br>"Your grades have dropped a bit."  
>"I know."<br>"Have you been studying?"  
>Matt starts to inspect his nails, shaking his head, "No."<br>Roger isn't surprised. They had tried nearly everything with him to get him motivated - threats, bribes, they'd even sent him to school in town, a regular high school with regular kids.  
>(He had gotten himself expelled so he could continue classes at Wammy's school and Roger sometimes he wishes he worked with idiots instead of genius children, geniuses were far more frustrating…)<br>"Detention," He says, reaching out to take the pack of smokes off his desk to tuck away into his drawer, and he has no doubt that Matt has more, hidden somewhere, "Two weeks. Now go."

When Mello leaves, Roger doesn't quite know what to do with himself.  
>He sits in his office for a long time, even after Near walks out - it takes him a long time to figure out what to tell them, all of them, his students. He has to announce L's death, too.<br>An assembly, maybe, or have the teachers do it during class?  
>He takes his glasses off, sets them down, and then rubs at the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.<br>"He's gone, isn't he?"  
>Matt's voice startles him and he looks up to see the redhead in his doorway and they just look at one another before Roger nods and Matt looks away.<br>"Yes."  
>"Do you know where?<br>"No, I don't."  
>"You know I'm not staying, right?"<br>"I wish you would, Matt."  
>Matt, for the first time, and Roger offers him a smile that isn't returned. Matt just stares at the floor and Roger can't help but think he's grown up now - fourteen, tall and gangly, still not quite grown into himself, but not a child, not anymore. He's never had children of his own, but if he had to pick which one he would call his son, it would be Matt.<br>His problem child - smart enough to be L, but not willing.  
>"I can't."<br>Roger stands up then and he goes over to him and he slowly, very slowly, wraps him into a hug. Matt doesn't move, and he thinks to himself then that this house will be very quiet with both of them gone, his little hellion children, raising trouble and ruckus. It will be peaceful, and he dreads every second of that impending silence.  
>"Be safe."<br>Matt's arms are skinny around his waist as he hugs him back and they stand like that for a few minutes, and Roger thinks he smells the cigarettes on him, but he doesn't reprimand him.  
>He watches the red car as it vanishes down the driveway and for the first time since he took over the orphanage for Quillish does he pour himself a drink.<p>

Roger tracks Matt down a few years later to New Orleans.  
>He flies over to check on him because even if Matt is a genius, he is only sixteen - he is living in a motel room and he looks surprised when he opens the door to see him.<br>He hasn't changed, but he has - two years for a teenager is a century. Matt is taller, thinner, his goggles still perched over his nose. His hair needs to be cut and his shirt is dirty - cigarette is clenched between his teeth, and Roger just smiles when he sees him.  
>"Hello, Matthew."<br>"You found me."  
>"It wasn't too hard," Roger tells him and Matt moves to let him in. There are games all over the hotel room floor, empty takeout boxes on the desk and his laptop is open but he can't see what it is he's up to. There's also a bra slung over the back of the chair but he doesn't ask; "You're still driving the same car."<br>"Ah, yeah," Matt moves and sits himself down on his bed, exhaling a little, "Sentimental or some shit. What are you doing here?"  
>"Checking on you," Roger answers, sitting down next to him and Matt is silent, fidgety, twiddling his thumbs and he watches him, "You're still a child. I have to make sure you're at least still alive."<br>"Well, here I am. Fine and dandy."  
>"Where have you been?"<br>Matt glances at him, "Ah…started in New York and drove south. I'm planning on heading over though Texas in a few weeks."  
>"That sounds exciting. Have you…heard from Mello?"<br>Matt's lips draw into a frown, "No."  
>"Have you been looking?"<br>"No."  
>Somehow, Roger doesn't believe him fully, and he looks about the hotel room, and he thinks he should scold him for the state of disarray its in, but he doesn't bother. It's not what he came to do and he exhales a little before looking back at him and he reaches out then to pluck the cigarette from his mouth.<br>"You're still doing this?"  
>Matt lets himself smile before he takes the cigarette back and stubs it out in the ashtray on the bedside table, "You gonna give me detention?"<br>He has to laugh then, and he shakes his head, "I can't very well do that here, now can I? I suppose I could ground you…but that never worked well before. You just took that time to play more video games."  
>"I hope you've come up with some better punishments for the new kids."<br>"I haven't the need to. You were the only real problem student I've ever had," Roger smiles, "Sometimes, I was sure you were too smart for your own good."  
>A different kind of smart.<br>"Kept you on your toes though, didn't I?"  
>"You could say that."<br>There is a long silence before Matt leans back on his hands, tips his head back and closes his eyes - he looks like he's about to say something, but he doesn't, not for a few moments, "I'm glad you're here."  
>"You are?"<br>"Surprisingly, yeah," Matt laughs, a little, hint of a cough lurking in the back of throat, "It gets lonely, sometimes. So it's nice to see a familiar face. Even if that face used to give me shit all the time."  
>"You did deserve it.<br>"Mostly," Matt agrees, tipping his head to look at him, "Not all the time."  
>"You were, by far, the most unruly child I have ever had to raise. I would tell you not to do something and you would do that exact thing. I'm sorry, Matthew, but you were a headache. Always up to no good," Roger pauses, "I never understood it, really. You're a clever guy. I don't understand why you never applied it."<br>"Mello."  
>It's one word, and Roger thinks he should press it but he wonders why he didn't see that one coming from ten miles away - it seems so obvious now and Matt sits forward again, props his arms on his knees and he can see the notches in his spine through his shirt. Matt's hands move and he pushes his goggles up to rub at the bridge of his nose for a moment before he glances at him and Roger thinks he looks older than he did even just a moment before. He looks aged, ragged, tired - more than he should, really.<br>Something.

Linda is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer when he comes back home.  
>Roger isn't surprised.<br>"How is he?" She wrings her hands in front of her, "Is he okay, Roger?"  
>"Managing well enough, or that's what he will have me believe," He starts up the stairs and she follows, "He's in New Orleans for now."<br>"Did you give him money?"  
>"No," He exhales, "I offered but he politely declined it. He has his trust, I think for now that's what he's using until he settles. But you know Matthew. He's restless."<br>Restless in that quiet way - not like Mello, bursting with energy and the need to move and advance and grow - Matt is bored easily. He needed to have his attention constantly occupied. More importantly, he isn't sure why he's even telling Linda all of this, but she's the only one who really cares. She's taken to asking him about the two of them almost every week, like clockwork.  
>Monday morning, nine am, she is at his office door and it's always the same question.<br>Any thing new, she'll ask, stepping past the heavy oak, and he'll always answer the same, no, not yet. She'll thank him and tell him she'll see him at breakfast.  
>Linda nods fleetingly behind him as she follows, "And Mello? Has he-"<br>"No. He says he's not looking."  
>"It's <em>Matt<em>," She insists then, "He's looking."  
>"I know."<p>

The next time Roger is able to talk to Matt, it is three fifteen in the morning.  
>He is groggy and disoriented and he sits up as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, "Hello?"<br>"Roger?"  
>He doesn't recognize the voice when he hears it but then he clues in and it's a bit of surprise. It's been almost a year since New Orleans and he struggles for something to say for a moment.<br>"Matthew. It's three in the morning. What's going on?"  
>Matt doesn't speak right away.<br>"I…uh, I need your help, Rog."  
>"What's the matter?"<br>"I'm in Wyoming. My car's outta gas, and the bank account's…uh, well, you know," He sounds sheepish, embarrassed, sort of, and Roger wonders if he's somehow developed a sense of shame in the time that he's been away from the house, "Can you wire me some? Just for gas. They don't even have wireless. I can't even…please?"  
>Roger is sure, in all the years that he has known Matt, he has never heard him say 'please' in any shape or form. Suddenly he sounds like a child again - the same mischievous kid who would tear up his school and cause nothing but trouble for him. He's still just a kid, now that he thinks about it, all alone in the States and oddly enough, Roger has never really worried about him.<br>Sure, he's fretted and fussed and been concerned, but he always knew, somehow, Matt would come out of it relatively okay, so thinking of him as a child is hard.  
>He has a hard time thinking of any of them as children, truthfully.<br>He wants to tell him to come home, to come back to where he belonged, where its safe - but, really, Matt has never belonged at Wammy's. It's never quite been the fit he needs, and maybe if it had been, he wouldn't be in this situation, alone, thousands of miles away from the only safe place he has. But then again, he's never really fit in anywhere since…  
>Roger casts a sidelong glance at his clock, at the red numbers now displaying three-eighteen, and he thinks this will be a very long night.<p>

Roger tries the number that called the night before a few days later.  
>An older man answers and says that the skinny red head drove off the minute he filled his car - Roger tells himself he's not worried as he hangs up the telephone.<p>

Matt makes it to LA.  
>Roger knows this because Matt calls again - he sounds rattled in the phone, his voice shaking and Roger boards the first flight there.<br>His apartment is dingy and small, crowded like the hotel, full of computers and wires and game software. Matt is sitting on the couch and he looks very small, long legs drawn up to his chest, his goggles on the table and the lights from the computer monitors make his eyes gleam bright.  
>He looks up when Roger comes in and they just stare at one another for a long time - the apartment smells like marijuana and he exhales, looking around without word.<br>"Are you okay?" He says, finally.  
>Matt shakes his head.<br>"No. I don't think I am."  
>Roger wants to ask what happened but something in Matt's expression stops him and he moves to sit next to him - the couch groans under his weight, a dirty brown thing that he's sure must have been dug out of a dumpster.<br>"I…just needed something familiar. I'm sorry to drag you all the way out here, Rog. I'm just…I'm sorry for a lot of shit."  
>Roger doesn't press. But slowly, Matt confesses - like a child, guilty conscience and the things he says does not surprise him, not in the least. He speaks of getting so high in Texas that sometimes he would wake up three towns away from his car, not knowing how he got there, about how he'd drink so much he'd puke through the night until his body couldn't keep him awake any longer. He tells him about driving until he almost slept at the wheel, about dirty motels in small towns and girls, women, beautiful but damaged and Roger thinks that describes him quite well.<br>Damaged Matt, poor Matt, running every which direction without Mello to focus his mind.  
>This is another moment, Roger thinks, that will define them - whatever they have, a father figure to a lost child, Matt will always be the one he couldn't fix, one of the ones Wammy's couldn't really nurture.<br>"I…woke up this morning face down in the tub," Matt says and his tone wavers and he runs a shaky, bony hand through his hair, "I could have died. I could have goddamn died."  
>"Yes, you could have," Roger agrees, "But you didn't."<br>Matt nods, shallowly, and looks at him from the corner of his eye. Roger sees the child he picked up from that apartment again, a gangly nine year old with shaggy red hair that cussed him out in Chinese when he scolded him for burping - his trouble child, the one who shined from the shadows, with a sharp tongue and a sharper wit.  
>Roger hates to leave him, he does, but Matt will not go with him, and he regrets the decision the whole way. Something tells him he will not last for much longer after this, that he will burn out in the shadows, eventually.<p>

"I found Mello," Matt's voice is quiet and Roger can't think of what to say, "He's…he's okay."  
>He stands by the window a long time after they hang up and he's relieved but a knot of worry is making its way into his gut, a cold chill in his bones that he can't quite shake, and he feels old as he watches the children play Rugby, Linda seated cross legs on the grass, sketchpad on her lap.<br>When did he let this happen?

The next phone call they share is quite different.  
>Matt is frantic, yelling into the phone and he can hear a pained wailing in the background, like a dying scream, and Roger doesn't know how to calm him down because he is the calm one, he is the one who does not frighten easily.<br>"Matthew, I can't-what are you saying? Please, relax! Listen to me! What-"  
>"He blew up!" Matt yells, and the wailing has stopped and who ever it is with him is yelling in another language, brokenly, interspersed with 'help me, idiot, help' and more screaming, "He blew his own ass up and holy, fuck, Roger, there's so much blood! What do I do? What the fuck do I do with him?"<br>"With who?"  
>"Mello!" He cries back, and his voice breaks, "Mello! He blew himself up, Jesus Christ, his whole goddamn face is almost gone! What do I do?"<br>Roger doesn't know - he is a lifetime away from LA, from them, and he tries to organize his thoughts but all he can hear is Mello in the background, howling in pain.  
>"Take him to a hospital!" He snaps back finally, and he's amazed that he hasn't said this sooner, "Matthew! Call 9-11, why did you call me?"<br>"I can't! He…he blew up a mafia base. He's in the mafia, and - Mello? Mello! Come on, man, get your shit together, listen to me! Mello!"  
>There is a clattering noise and then the phone goes dead and Roger's blood runs cold.<p>

He is in LA by the next day.  
>Matt opens the door and there is blood on his t-shirt and he is pale, hands stained and a surprised recognition passes over his face before fading, "You didn't have to come out here."<br>"Matthew," He steps past him and Matt either doesn't care or he's too tired to stop him, "You called me and told me Mello blew up. Did you expect me not to come?"  
>"It's so fucked up," He bites out, "Fucking…he's sleeping now. I did my best to take care of him but the bathroom's a goddamn mess and so's my car and…who the hell blows up a building while they're still inside?"<br>"Someone desperate," Roger answers, and when he peeks into the bedroom, he sees Mello - his stomach twists at the sight. He's pale, and thin, blanket up over to his stomach and he looks like he is already dead and Roger again wonders when he let this happen.  
>How did he let this happen?<br>Mello is a different kind of troubled than Matt, he thinks, a troubled that couldn't be fixed and he feels guilty, almost, that he let him leave when he did. If he had stopped him, if he hadn't told him right away, if he hadn't - but really, its too late for that now.  
>"Go sleep," He tells Matt, quietly, "I'll make you some lunch."<p>

Matt sleeps through lunch.  
>He sleeps through until the next afternoon and the first thing he does when he wakes up is go outside and smoke his way through a pack of cigarettes.<br>Roger stands out on the balcony with him and Matt is taller than him now, a little, lanky but less gangly, and he's got some stubble on his chin now and he's not a child anymore but he still sees that little boy, standing barefoot in the kitchen of that apartment in that woman's house, with too long hair, a skinny little genius being raised from the cracks in the sidewalk.  
>Not a boy, but a man.<br>"L would be proud of you," Roger says, and Matt doesn't say a word, "For what you did for Mello."  
>"Like I give a shit."<br>"You should."  
>"Why? It's his fault we're in this mess," He snips and there is an unfamiliar bitterness in his tone, "It's not like he even gave two shits about us anyway. We weren't picked to come to Wammy's because he wanted to save us, Rog. He picked us because we had good test scores and because he needed geniuses to take over his job when he finally got outsmarted. And see, that's the thing Mello doesn't get. He didn't do it because he's a saint - he did it because he's a goddamn bastard."<br>Roger finds himself at a loss for words - he struggles for an answer, before he shakes his head and Matt stubs his cigarette out on the railing before he digs out another and lights it up. The smoke twists in the afternoon air, pale and grey, and he doesn't say more for a long moment, the silent seconds tick on. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm goes off and a siren screams.  
>"I bet that fuck didn't even know my goddamn name."<br>"No, he didn't," Roger agrees, quiet, and he feels worn out all of a sudden - all of this, Kira, Mello and his mafia explosions, it seems all so exhausting and tired out, "I don't even think he knew Near's."  
>"I'm not surprised. Like I always knew L didn't 'rescue' me because he gave a damn about me. I knew that. But this whole goddamn thing is so fucked up. It's just so…it's so fucking demented and twisted and I'm tired of it. I'm tired. I just spent all night treating my best friend for third degree facial burns. I mean, what the fuck?" He laughs then, shaking his head as he takes a drag on his smoke, "I wish he'd just left me there in that apartment. I wish he'd looked at my grades and deemed me fucking average and left me there. It'd be better than this shit."<p>

Roger leaves later that evening.  
>Matt walks him down to the front door of the building and they stand, facing one another and Roger knows that this will be the last time he ever sees him - he feels like he should say something, tell him he's proud, that he knows his name even if L doesn't but somehow, he's not sure if Matt would really care.<br>"Be safe."  
>He feels old - too old, he should retire to a little island somewhere hot, and spend his days drinking Mai Tai's and listening to the waves on the shore. He's too old to be in the battle and Matt's too young and Mello's too brilliant and he wishes he could tell them to leave it to Near - Near is the one for this job, he will stay safe, be vigilant while Mello will not.<br>What happened is proof enough of that.  
>"It's not me you gotta worry about."<br>And it's never been him, has it?  
>Roger wishes he could go back in time to when they were young, when Matt's worst violation was smoking behind the shed, when Mello's crimes were pranks on Near. He can't handle this - he can't handle having them be like this and he wonders if all parental figures feel this way. Seeing him like this is hardest now as he walks away. He still remembers the fourteen year old in his office, alone, and hugging him to his chest and he wishes he had stopped him.<br>He wishes he stopped Mello's self destruction more than anything now though.  
>"Keep him safe, then."<br>Matt smiles - and there is that child again, that shaggy haired nine year old, in the back of the limousine, toward the airport, and Roger again thinks that if he had to pick which Wammy's child is most like his son, it's Matt.  
>Average, brilliant, loyal Matt.<br>"Come on. Someone's gotta stop that fuck from blowing up again."  
>Roger knows he shouldn't laugh, but he does anyway.<p>

That bad feeling doesn't really go away.  
>It stays around for weeks, a month, more - then one day, his phone rings and he hopes its Matt, or even Mello, but it's Near who greets him.<br>"Kira has been apprehended," he says, quiet, calm, "Mello is dead, however. A casualty."  
>"And Matt?"<br>"My sources indicate he is also dead."  
>And all Roger can think is that he saw this coming from a mile away, he saw it, predicted it, anticipated it and he sits down, slowly, his chair creaks a little and he feels out of breath, exhausted, and he's too old for this, he really is.<br>"Kira managed to write Mello's name in the notebook," Near explains, "And Matt was shot by police. Kira is dead, also. He lost."  
>He lost, Roger repeats in his head, Kira lost, but they did too, both of them, his two trouble kids and he looks up to the chair in front of his desk and wasn't it just the other day that he caught Matt smoking and gave him two weeks detention? Wasn't it just yesterday that he told Mello of L's death and he left, taking Matt with him without meaning to?<br>"I see."  
>"I felt you should know," Near offers, and he wonders if its his way of comforting him, "Mello's body was burned, and I am in the process of obtaining Matt's. I will be having it sent back to Winchester. I assume you will be able to prepare an appropriate funeral?"<br>"Oh, yes. Thank you, Near."  
>"Of course. Goodbye, Roger."<br>Roger sits there for a long time after he hangs up, phone still in his hands, cradled in his palms and he stares down at it before reaching out to pull his drawer open. There, under some papers, he rummages and finds the pack of cigarettes, Matt's pack of Marlboro's and he remembers foolishly believing these would be the things to kill him.

Roger doesn't notice the date until breakfast.  
>It's Matt's birthday and he excuses himself to his office and he doesn't quite know what to do - he feels like he should commemorate the moment in some way, a party, or something to that degree but the funeral is next week and he supposes that will have to do.<br>The Marlboros are still on his desk, mocking him, staring at him as he does the paperwork for Mello's death certificate - Wammy's kids deaths must be handled carefully, like fragile cracked glass.  
>Mello's death is a shame, he thinks. It's sad that something so brilliant, so vibrant faded so quickly, like a dying star, burning bright before disappearing forever and the thought makes him almost sick to his stomach. He regrets letting it happen, he regrets walking away after it went too far and he regrets not doing more.<br>Roger's really not sure when he became a man of regrets.

It's a little after three am two days after Matt and Mello's funeral when his phone rings.  
>There's a lot of static and Roger has to strain to hear the voice on the other end, "Rog."<br>His mind works on shutting down as a broken cough filters through the fuzzy static and then again, his name, rasped out, like it's the last bit of air those lungs will ever get out.  
>"Rog, I need your help."<p>

Matt is a mess when he finds him in his apartment.  
>He's in the back bedroom, by the balcony, and there's blood everywhere, his bandages tattered and ruined and Roger kneels next to him because he genuinely looks dead.<br>"What the hell were you thinking?" He reprimands and he wonders if now is really the time, "You stupid, stupid fucking kid. What were you thinking."  
>"That…Kira was gonna get me," Matt manages and his lips quirk into a little smile as his eyes open, and his goggles are cracked, missing bits of orange and Roger doesn't know exactly what to do now, "I…wasn't gonna go down without…a bit of a fight. I didn't…those Japanese had big guns…"<br>Roger wants to shush him - each word sounds like it's going to be his last and he touches his arm lightly.  
>"Where's…Mello?"<br>"Matthew…I-he's…"  
>"Idiot," he coughs then closes his eyes, "Got himself killed, didn't he?"<br>Roger feels terrible for being relieved and Matt's eyes open again, half way, and they're dark, hooded, and he looks ashy-pale, more so than usual and they just look at one another before Matt cough-laughs, "You look like you're going to shit yourself."  
>"Matthew. You need to get to a hospital."<br>"No, no. I've been there," He tells him, "Kira…he watches those, you know."  
>Roger wants to shake him. He wants to shake him, or slap him, pick him up and carry him to the hospital himself - Matt's cellphone is on the ground next to him and he grabs it, flips it open and presses at the red on button but the screen stays dark and Matt's hand touches his, pushes it down and he shakes his head a little.<br>"Battery's toast…I used it calling you…"  
>"Matt," He repeats, "You need a doctor. You're bleeding. You've been shot…God knows how many times. Don't be foolish."<br>"Sixteen," he mumbles and he blinks, slow, like it may be the last time he opens his eyes, "Nah, Rog, I'm done. Come on…I've been in here for days. You're a smart…smart enough guy."  
>He swallows and Roger watches his adam's apple bob and he wonders how this could have happened - how on Earth had he managed to survive being shot sixteen times? And then he had the energy to escape and get home again.<br>The whole thing seems ridiculous.  
>"Why did you call me?"<br>"Who else was I gonna call?" Matt asks and he wheezes a little, coughs, and Roger feels his chest clench, "You're…only one I got now."  
>Roger is at a loss for words and he notices it, almost right away, his hand squeezing the top of his loosely, weakly, and the proverbial clock is ticking and he wishes he could do something to give him more time, to slow this down, to stop it, but he can't leave him now. He can't be away from him, not when he's like this.<br>"You're sure?"  
>"That you're the only person I have left?" He wheeze-laughs, though its more of a wheeze, and closes his eyes, shaking his head, "Yeah…Rog, I'm sure."<br>"Not that," Roger shoots back and he decides he doesn't like how at peace he seems with it all, how relaxed he is, comfortable except for the fact that he is slowly dying, bit by bit, "That this is what you want."  
>"I'm sure."<br>Roger wants to tell him to fight back. To stop being so damn lazy and content with dying and fight back against it, survive, but its not his decision, just like it wasn't his decision for him to follow after Mello on this crazy scheme. Matt has always been very sure of his choices, Roger knows - his decisions are always final, thought out, and he exhales a little as he sits back on the carpet.  
>"Are you comfortable?"<br>"As comfortable as I can be, all things considering. Thank you," he smiles at him again and Roger notices he has chapped lips. And he needs to shave; "I'm gonna lay down soon…more…natural, or something."  
>"Whatever you want, Matthew."<br>"Matt," He corrects, "I fucking hate…when you call me Matthew. It's Matt."  
>"Matt," Roger repeats, and he feels like he should apologize, "Tell me what happened."<p>

So he does.  
>He tells him every bit of Mello's crazy scheme and Roger realizes, halfway through, that this was a sacrifice, that Mello never had any intention of making it out of this and he's proud, he is. But they're too young for this. Matt is too young to be dying, shot up by Japanese police. Mello is too young to be already be dead, burned beyond recognition, buried in the cemetery next to L.<br>Matt's moved positions, he's laying on his back, head on his knee, staring dazedly up at the ceiling - he's stopped talking for the most part and he's just mumbling every now and again and blood is steadily soaking through his shirt.  
>"I can't tell if the light is heaven or just the ceiling light," Matt murmurs after a long time of silence, "This fucking sucks."<br>Roger doesn't know what to tell him and Matt coughs, laughs, and closes his eyes - his hands move, shakily, to reach up and he tugs his goggles down around his neck, and Roger makes a note to take them off him once he's gone, to keep them in the drawer of his desk, next to the Marlboros and Mello's rosary.  
>"Are you in any pain?"<br>"No," He answers, softly, and he turns his eyes up to look at him, they're a little vacant, sunken in and he looks at him, through him, for a long time, "I can't really see anymore. It's just fuzzy shapes."  
>Roger's hand finds his and he squeezes tight and Matt just keeps looking through him.<br>"It's okay," He tells him, and he's not sure who he's trying to comfort, "I'm right here. I'm here. It's okay, Matt."  
>"I know," he assures him and Roger appreciates it, distantly, he's never had someone die like this in his arms, right there - A was long dead by the time they found him in the closet, dangling. This is so different, so sad, and Matt's shirt is a mess of red and black and the odd spot of white and he wishes he didn't call him but he's so very relieved he did.<br>"Do you think I'll…I'll see my mom?"  
>Roger's caught off guard by the question and he looks at him and then nods, before he remembers he can't really see, so he squeezes his hand and smiles, "I think so."<br>"Good…I kinda miss her," He mumbles, and his eyes struggle to stay open, his eyelids are drooping and his grip is growing weak and he wants to keep his hand in his, "Hey, Rog?"  
>"Yes?"<br>"Thank you."  
>"What for?"<br>"For being here," His voice wavers, "You were…you did a good job. Sorry I was such a…a shit to you. I didn't mean it."  
>"I know."<p>

It's just past dawn when the rise and fall of his chest stops.  
>Roger sits there with him for a long time afterwards and again thinks he is too old for this, he's been around for too long to be dealing with this, and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself now, with him now. He's gone though - the apartment is empty for the first time and too still and he doesn't want to move, but slowly, he eases himself out from under Matt's head and stands.<br>His legs are weak and he's unsteady - morning sunshine is filtering through the clouds outside, bright, the dust floats in the air, suspended and it's a little eerie and too still and he misses the rambunctious noise of the kids as they get ready for school.  
>He wanders from the back bedroom and into the main part of the apartment and he wonders what he will do with all his things. Throwing them out seems a waste and he runs a hand through his hair and takes his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose.<br>One day at a time, really.  
>One foot in front of the other, no sense in running before walking.<br>He's not sure how he finds himself in Matt's kitchen, opening the cupboards and there's a bottle of whiskey on the shelf there, half drank and he takes it out and pours himself a drink and goes back into the other bedroom. The sliding door sticks when he tries to open it, and the air outside is still cold from the nighttime. He steps outside and and he looks down over the railing, watches the traffic go by and thinks, again, he's getting too old for all of this.


End file.
